


what's your name, again?

by arexnna



Series: lost stars [24]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-21
Updated: 2015-10-21
Packaged: 2018-04-27 12:07:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5047951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arexnna/pseuds/arexnna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"we've been dating for awhile now, but when you introduced yourself, i thought you weren't going to be anybody, but now we're dating and i still don't know your name" au</p>
            </blockquote>





	what's your name, again?

**Author's Note:**

> yeah, so i saw this prompt on tumblr where another writer already wrote it, so if you know where the fic is, do tell me so i can credit them!

The first time she meets him, it's in the cafe just around her block. He waits for his coffee before her, standing with his hands shoved in his pockets as he rocks slightly on his feet. Aside from that, she doesn't pay much attention to him, and while he has an extremely handsome face with unfairly pretty eyes, she doesn't quite bother to ogle at him any further.

(Had it been later in the day, when she's taken her coffee and the caffeine has kicked in, maybe she'd drool over how his jawline could probably cut glass and how that scruff would probably leave beard burns everywhere in its wake.)

But alas, she's nowhere awake enough for those thoughts, what more attentive enough to hear her order be called up.

"Emma?" Her head jerks up at the accented voice and her eyes meet his.

"Yeah, and you are?"

Vaguely, she wonders how he could possibly know her name but that question's answered when she finally hears, "Espresso for Emma?" being called out, at just about the same time that he says:

"-Jones," he smiles, "But I believe that's you," he points (very politely with his thumb) towards the counter where the barista holds up a to-go cup with her name on it.

She feels a blush coming when she realises why he'd talked to her in the first place. But since she's probably never going to see him again anyway, she just presses a tight smile onto her lips and with a nod, she dashes off to grab her drink.

Emma only glances back to give him another thank you smile, before she walks away.

-/-

The second time she sees him, it's two days later, again at the coffee shop, but only this time, she’s heading out as he’s coming in. She means to brush past him, thinking this nothing but coincidence, but he looks up from his phone just as she’s ten feet from him, his eyes lighting up in something that’s definitely not coincidental and he opens his mouth as if to say something, but his turned attention has caused him to collide with someone else, splaying hot coffee all over the poor girl.

Emma cringes at the scene, and she really does mean to help, but she’s got a perp to catch and she can’t lose another one after July’s dry stint, so she only offers a rueful smile his way that he doesn’t see.

In the back of her mind, she thinks of how the _spilt-coffee_ scene that had just played out could be the start to a romcom – one where the male lead is Mr. _Something_ Jones, and the female lead _isn’t_ Emma, but the caffeine drenched girl.  She glances back once, seeing how he’s kneeled down to try and fix the mess, but she notices how he searches the room for something.

But she doesn’t have time to ponder on what or who he’d been looking for when Graham’s text about coffees and bail jumpers comes in, and then she’s off.

-/-

By the third time, if she didn’t know any better, she’d think he were stalking her. When she thinks she spots him at the bookshop she frequents, she squints hard, staring at him with a lack of finesse that thanks to her shitty eyesight (she should really get around to getting contacts) it’s a heavy enough stare to pull his head from his book and those pretty blue eyes of his to hers.

And it's far too late for her to pretend as if she weren't just watching the guy for a good 60 seconds, so she really has no other choice but to smile at him, and it might've just been the stupidest thing she could've done when she realises that he's now walking towards her.

"Emma, right?" he says with a smile, tucking his book ( _The Children Act_ by Ian McEwan) to his side.

She almost replies with, 'Guy at the cafe, right?' but she thinks that that may be too big of a giveaway that she wasn't paying attention for his name, and that's not the best first ( _third)_ impression to give an unfairly beautiful man.

So, instead, she responds with, “Yeah,” and a smile, adding on, “You come here a lot?” before realising how much like a creepy-guy-at-the-bar she sounds.

But he doesn’t react if he feels peeved, shaking his head softly as he says, “No, I’ve just moved in two blocks away – I was scoping out the area then I found this little haven,” he grins as he looks around the store.

“Welcome to the neighbourhood, then,” she says with a soft curl to her lips and a nod, “I guess I’ll be seeing you around,” Emma excuses herself before she can embarrass herself any further as she makes move to go.

But he catches her arm with a gentle touch of his hand, and when she turns back with a quizzical look on her face, his ears redden and his cheeks blush with pink.

“I’m pretty much terrified that I won’t get more than three chances, so, excuse me if I’m being too forward, but,” he moves to scratch at his ear, before asking, “would you like to go out for lunch or dinner, or maybe even brunch if you prefer that, sometime?”

She’s pretty much too taken aback by his proposal that she doesn’t bother schooling her features of how wrong she was to think that this guy would just be another handsome face on the street that she almost forgets that she hasn’t quite answered him yet, and that he’s probably nervous enough as he is judging by the colour in his face and the fidgeting of his feet.

“With me, I mean,” he adds quickly as if to fill the silence, “But of course, if you don’t want to – that’s fine, I just thought you were beautiful and—“

“Hand me your phone,” Emma cuts his rambling short. It doesn’t quite click in his head as quickly as she’d hoped but when it does, he’s fumbling with his android, swiping and tapping to get to the call page.

When she hands him back his phone, he grins at the screen, “Swan,” he reads her name out as if to try the word on his tongue. “I really like your name,” he smiles and _this_ would be a great time to confess that she doesn’t know his name, but she doesn’t quite want to ruin the moment, so she does what she does best and procrastinates.

“Text me when you have a date set for _‘sometime’,_ ” she smiles turning and walking away (with an added sway to her step, though she’ll never admit this) and one last glance back at his dopey grin.

She’ll get another chance to find out his name. She’s a bails bondsperson after all; it’s her _job_ to find things out about people.

It’ll be _easy_.

-/-

She takes it back. Finding out the name before _Jones_ is far harder than she’d expected.

The next opportunity since the date-asking comes when she expects his texts, hoping for a _‘Hey, this is … How about that date?’_ But _no,_ he goes for a:

_Evening, Swan. What say you next Friday for dinner?_

So when that’s out of the picture, she goes old school, and by that, she means searching Facebook for any _(blank)_ _Jones_ who’s profile picture has dark hair and blue eyes. But she only finds a _Liam Jones_ , and now that she thinks of it, they vaguely resemble each other; only this Jones wears curly dark hair and a softer face.

She doesn’t get it from their date either, and as enjoyable as it was with to die for food and a painfully gorgeous view (of which mostly consisted of his smile and his blue, blue eyes), she still doesn’t manage to find out his name.

But he sticks to calling her Swan, so it works fine when she only calls him Jones.

-/-

The second time they go out, they take a walk in the park after their lunch, her arm clutching at his as she leans against him for his warmth. It may be their second official date, but they’ve hung out more times in between, alternating between having their coffees together or just catching each other whenever wherever, and it’s an extremely odd feeling for her to be so comfortable with someone this soon.

It’s even more odd when she still doesn’t know said person’s name.

But another opportunity to solve the problem arises when they run into one of his friends, but it crashes and burns almost immediately.

They’re ‘ _uni mates_ ’ according to him, and the closest thing she gets to a name is ‘ _Hook’,_ but it’s later explained how he’d been _extremely_ good at boxing back then and ( _go figure_ ) gave a mean right hook. (She’ll get to how much of a turn on him being a boxer is later, when she pushes him against the wall with her body flat against his and her lips pressed hard against his.) But apparently, those nicknames are a common occurrence, with his _mate,_ Robin’s being _Hood_ , seeing as he’d always just had a knack for archery (and of course, his name _being_ Robin).

“You have a thing for boxers?” he asks later, in between kisses.

“I have a thing for you,” she answers and then his mouth is back on her neck.

-/-

It’s their fifth date, four weeks into this relationship and she still doesn’t know his name. It’s their fifth date, countless make-out sessions into the relationship and she’s being pinned under him on his bed in his room of his apartment to add one more to the bunch. It’s their fifth date and for the first time in almost a year, she’s breaking her dry spell.

And she still doesn’t know his name.

She knows almost everything about him. She knows that he was born in the States but grew up in London; knows that he still calls his fries _‘chips’_ and his chips _‘crisps’_ despite coming back to Brooklyn for the last 10 years; knows for a fact that he prefers Star Wars over Star Trek, Game of Thrones over Lord of the Rings, and that he _hates_ Severus Snape with a passion. Emma knows that his favourite ice cream is Rocky Road, and that whatever he eats, the sauce _must_ be placed on the side for him to dip it himself, and also that he’s unfairly good with kids. She knows all of this and more about him.

But she still doesn’t know his name.

And if she weren’t so drunk on the rum from earlier she’d have stopped him before, coming out with the truth, but alas, with four ( _five?_ ) glasses of alcohol making its way through her system, she doesn’t think to stop.

So it’s only after – after lips on lips and lips on _other_ things, after sweat slicked bodies sated of their wants and needs, after she begins to sober up – does she finally come out with it.

“I have to tell you something,” she begins as she sits up, pulling the sheet with her to hide her modesty, which she now notices, turning back to see him laying down bare and perfectly sculpted, was a bad idea on her part.

“What is it, love?” he says with a gentleness that’s so soft and so sweet that she settles back against his chest when he sits up to hold her, his hand so smoothly running up and down her bare arm in comfort.

He presses a kiss that’s so tender to her shoulder and she almost retreats from her confession. “I haven’t been totally honest with you,” she admits and she can _feel_ him tense slightly.

But he only asks, “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, I just—“ she stops and curls herself into him further, his arms tightening around her waist as she does. “We had sex.”

His head jerks back at that, a confused but amused look on his face as he stares at her with a raised eyebrow. “Yes, we did – a couple times, if we’re to be specific,” he grins and she can’t help but return the gesture.

“ _Yeah_ ,” she presses a kiss to his lips. “But what I’m saying is,” she slows down, “we had sex,” Emma repeats, and he furrows his brows as he nods slowly, “and I still don’t know your name.”

 _There_. _Easy_.

But then he laughs and presses a kiss to her neck and he thinks she’s joking.

“I-“ she starts and only now she thinks he gets it.

“Of course, you know my name!” he denies and turns her in his arms. “What else have you been calling me for the past four—“

“…Jones.”

“You really don’t know my name?” he asks after a moment’s paused.

She nods.

“But I- _how?”_

“Well, that first day you introduced yourself, I was _really_ low on caffeine and I could barely pay attention to _anything_ , but I thought you were just going to be _some guy_ so I didn’t care to ask again, but you turned out to be _more_ than just _some guy_ and then all of a sudden it was too late for me to ask you for your name, so I thought I’d just listen out and find out myself, but _God_ was it harder than I expected and now we’re _here_ ,” Emma finishes with a deep breath, and she’s honestly expecting hurt to be etched onto his face, but there’s only a smile where a frown should be.

He chuckles bodily, the vibrations shifting through her, “Oh, Emma Swan, how are you a bails bondsperson if you can’t even find out the name of your boyfriend?”

 _Boyfriend._ That’s the first time they’d labelled _this_ and she’s suddenly reconsidering finding out his name, all too satisfied with just calling him her _boyfriend_.

She lets her head fall in the crook of his neck and shoulder, the feel of his lips pressed to her hair. “I know it’s K. Jones,” she mentions, peeking up at him. “From your buzzer box thing – I saw K. Jones,” Emma explains and he nods.

“ _Okay_ ,” he says, putting his hands on her arms and drawing her away to meet his eyes properly. “So you’ve go the first letter – what’s my name?” he asks. “ _Guess_.”

She scrunches her brows at how sporting he is with this, taking no offense at how her stupidity. “Well, a lot of _K_ names I know don’t fit you, so I’ll just list them out till I get it right, okay?”

He nods, a smile twitching at his lips.

“Keith.”

 _Not-Keith_ crinkles his nose in distaste at the name, shaking his head as an answer.

“Kevin?” she suggest and the moment the name leaves her lips she already knows it’s not it.

His _‘nope’_ confirms it.

“Kieran?”

He shakes his head.

“Kit?” Emma offers and he grins.

“As much as I’d love to have the same name as Jon Snow’s portrayer, alas, you are wrong.”

“ _I give up_ ,” she caves with defeat, her forehead settling back where it was before he’d pulled her away.

But this time he doesn’t, just wraps his arms around her and the silk sheets, his chin resting on her shoulder as he whispers in her ear, “ _Killian_.”

She looks up with a growing smile, having to bite down on her lower lip to refrain from grinning too much. “Hi, Killian,” she tries it in her mouth like he’d done that other day. “I like it,” she says and she means it. She doesn’t see this man with another name besides from _Killian._

“I like you,” he responds and she tilts her head up to press her lips against his.

“Good.”

-/-

(Later, when they’re on their second round, deep in the throes of passion, she recites his name like a prayer and he makes sure she’ll never forget it.)

(Though she thinks he might have just made her forget her own.)


End file.
